


All I Dream and Have

by anonymous_huxely



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_huxely/pseuds/anonymous_huxely
Summary: Bereaved and evading the clutches of a family tragedy, you leave behind the pain of your past to marry your fiancé and seek out your dreams, for the dawn of a new century holds the promise of a fresh start with the man you love.But if you knew anything about life, it was unpredictable and unkind, and when your plans for the future fall apart and you start running from the law, nothing could prepare you for the path ahead. One that lead to dark places and hard choices. One where everything you believe about right and wrong is tested.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	All I Dream and Have

* * *

* * *

_May 25th, 1899._

_Dear Lenora,_

_I am the happiest I have been in a long, long time._

_This letter is awfully overdue—for that I must foremost apologize to you. These past few months have been both the longest and the most fleeting in the course of my life. In my relentless grief, I lost my sense of self in pursuit of burying the past, believing that would be in my best interest. I see now the errors in that thinking. There is no forgetting, and part of the suffering is how you endure. It was the least of my intentions to leave my closest friend behind in the ashes of what was. All I knew for certain was that I needed time—to heal, and I needed Matthew—which brings me to my news and the reason behind my renewed hope in life._

_He asked me to marry him._

_I said yes._

_I desperately wish to tell you all of the beautiful details of those simple words in person, so I ask that you forgive my brevity. Regretfully, this letter is not a wedding invitation. We have decided to have a small ceremony, only the two of us at a scenic little chapel. The swiftness of this life-altering affair may seem imprudent, but I have never been more sure of any decision in my life. I know it will be perfect—because it is him, and because it will mark the beginning of the rest of our lives together._

_At this moment, I write to you from our private suite on a ferry docked in Blackwater for the evening. Traveling across the country has been tiresome, however Matthew has hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to protect my inheritance while we travel, so all is safe and sound. Tomorrow, we board a train bound to our new home in New York. Originally, I shunned the notion of using my parents’ money to support my future, but I recognized that was what they left it for, and who am I to spit back their last gift to me?_

_Now the time has come for me to focus on what I have to gain, not dwell upon what I have lost and all of my misfortunes. In that sentiment, I found my new love: for my work, and for my fiancé. And I believe that will be enough._

_I wanted to express my gratitude for all that you have done in settling the matters of my family’s estate. I was not strong enough to go back and see what was left, and I surmise I never will be._

_Please, write to me soon; I wish to clear the air between us. I miss you terribly, and, above all, I hope that this letter finds you well._ _Do not hesitate to_ _let me know of anything you need of me. Take care._

_Sincere—_

The pen in your hand stills as the softest whisper of a kiss blooms against your neck, leaving the finishing stroke of your letter promptly forgotten. Your breath hitches in your chest, and the chill that tingles down your spine infringes on the solid warmth of the presence at your back. A spell of quiet and alone had fallen as you began writing beneath the green desk lamp this evening. One imbued by the gentle breeze flowing through the windows opened to a twilight sky. It all broke with a soundless sigh as you melt into the pair of slim shoulders behind you, sinking into a different kind of peace.

That touch—it belongs to _him_ . You would know it anywhere. The trepidation of his hands, how slow they are to indulge as they travel, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your shoulders. Only _he_ was capable of speaking of such soft wonder and considering you so thoughtfully without the sweetness of words. 

What also unquestionably belongs to him is the whiff of cologne that follows his nearness. A sweetly dark scent of spice and musk, one that often clings to your skin with a simple passing brush of his sleeve. During the long months apart, he would leave you a scarf to remember him by, something to hold close. On the lonelier nights, you would gaze upon the moonlight glowing through your bedroom window and hold it against your heart. Every memory of him rose in your mind with that scent, and all of them were filled with fondness. 

An unthinking smile lifts your cheeks. 

“You know, it’s incredibly rude to sneak up on people,” You chide lightly, the teeter of a laugh sweetening your voice as your eyes lull to a close. A beat passes, and you both linger in the silence. His mouth glances your skin with the delicate grace and indecision of a butterfly as it drifts upwards with light, teasingly chaste presses. 

Metal clatters, rolls across the mahogany desk and lands on the carpet with a thud. All the while, your head falls back as you yield a contented sigh and nest your hand into a familiar crown of dark hair, lacing the waves between your fingers. 

A mischievous smile touches your ear. Matthew smooths his elegant hands down the sleeves of your gown, indulging in the emerald shade of satin encasing your arms. The silken sound has your teeth tugging your bottom lip, and a horripilation of delight prickles the skin beneath your dress . 

“I’m sorry, I forget all my manners when I’m around you, Mrs. Cornwall.”

“Soon to be,” You correct, breathless at the low tone of his voice. 

His thumb tips your chin to his, and in that fleeting space he murmurs, “Not soon enough.” 

And with that, your lashes brush along his cheek as his mouth seeks to capture yours. 

Matthew’s kisses are always languid and warm. In the blurred space between eyelids, his hands find their rightful place along your neck, holding you still at the perfect angle as his lips press into yours. Time gloriously eludes you both in those few moments as your hand slides farther into his hair, and you forget. You forget about the letter and the circumstances that brought you to write it in the first place. You forget where you are, no longer listening to the lap of water against the boat or the chirp of insects in the spring evening. 

To forget all but who you are with is an elusive feeling, one that grants an immeasurable relief that leads you to forget the worst of all that has happened. Like a flower to the rain, you open yourself up to it freely. The brief tastes of it you had with him in moments like this kept you sane, and to know that they were never far was the reason why you smiled every day when you woke instead of sobbing to sleep each night. Yes, to forget was what you needed most desperately, and in Matthew’s embrace you forget about the worst thing of all. 

You forget about the past. 

His kisses were also easy to get lost in, dismissing all of your thoughts and clarity until you opened your eyes to find his in a haze. In the soft, warm lighting from the globe sconces of your suite, a fortune of silver glitters in the gray of his gaze, and a slow smile blooms between you. He was as lost as you were. 

You thumb over his freckled, pale and prominent cheekbone, trailing down the hollow of his cheek to trace the line of his smile. With the tragedy that had befallen you, you subconsciously began to memorize his features, as if you might lose him, too, one day. The thought is too frightful to water, and it makes your hand drop. 

As a part of you, a shadow was never far, and despondency shared its loom in equal. One fugitive glance behind was all it took to draw you back, and before long that woeful song filled with emptiness beckoned, calling out to you like a siren at sea to drown in the cold, dark waters of grief. 

Matthew notes the way your eyes fall away, spotting the sadness doubtlessly lurking within them, and he clears his throat.

“I have something for you.”

“You’ve given me enough gifts, Matthew. What more could you give me?”

The back of his finger strokes your cheek, softer than a snowflake’s falling. A small, hidden dimple winks briefly at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll see. Keep your eyes closed.”

He curiously withdraws, and you do as he bids. 

His footsteps shuffle away towards the bed where his travel case is and you sit patiently, eyes closed and excitement unfurling in your chest. After a few moments of rummaging he returns, and the cold weight of gold settles upon your neck delicately. 

“Open.” 

A silver mirror is placed in your hand and your jaw drops as you raise it towards your neck. Dozens of tearful peridot droplets glimmer back in the reflection, matching the twinkle in Matthew’s eyes as he watches you. The cloudless facets are cool to the touch as you admire them speechlessly. 

“Matthew—”

“I thought it matched your dress when we were in town earlier. I couldn’t resist.” 

“It’s beautiful,” You breathe. Matthew’s fingertips skim along the pendants sparkling over the smooth skin over your heart, absently trailing down to the glass buttons of your bodice. 

“Not as some things…” He whispers dazedly, and the allusive warmth that brews in his downcast gaze has you swallowing tightly. 

“Still, you shouldn’t have. As lovely as this is, I don’t want to display our wealth so ostentatiously...” And yet, as you voice your opposition to this show of lavishness , your sight remains fixed on the captivating stones. They _do_ compliment the peacock feather embroidery along the flounce of your sleeves, and the jewel tones of the silk. Part of you chastises your budding inclination towards the extravagant frivolities Matthew had begun to spoil you with, and the other half…the other half of your sensibilities hesitates. Wearing this made you lift your chin higher and refine your posture to accommodate the elegance it demanded, as if it were a sense of purpose resting over your heart rather than a necklace. 

“You can have nice things. You can allow yourself this,” Matthew says after a moment of watching you deliberate. His words are veiled in understanding, knowing your silent doubts and why you waver. He caresses the line of your bottom lip in an attempt to bring back your smile. “I want you to have it.” 

You glance up, catching the softness in his eyes, and the tactile persuasion of his touch works. 

“Thank you. I—” He swiftly cuts you off with a capricious kiss, one you grin and acquiesce into blissfully. 

When he breaks away, he strokes your cheek with his thumb once more, and your eyes are slow to open. “No gratitude is necessary. I just want to spoil you,” 

Reassured, you set the mirror down beside a letter opener atop a shambolic stack of research notes.

“We should—” you pause to clear your throat, stuck on your own words. “What time is it?” 

Your pocket watch gleams on the desk, and you retreat from his embrace.

It was a gift from your mother for when you graduated from medical school. As always, you were reluctant to accept the indulgence of the timepiece. The gold face was engraved with two birds circling a flower, one whose center was a brilliant ruby that glittered like a star. She had insisted that it was a reward for your diligence, and looking back, you were glad that you ultimately conceded. 

How often you thumbed the face of it, on that train platform on that autumnal day, fondling the last piece of her you had. 

Your fingers close around the watch and flip the cover open. 

“Dinner will be served soon, we should get going,” You announce. With a golden click the reverie is broken and you return your attention to the letter, signing it with a hastened scribble. 

Matthew huffs a small laugh, “Now I remember what I originally came here to tell you.” He sighs, resigning his fond hold of you with one last, lingering caress to the back of your craning neck. The growing number of those light and leisurely touches he thoughtlessly gave reminded you of his unabated affection, and the fact that they made your heart flutter each time revealed how steadfast yours was, as well. You averred the realized possibility of you finding this kind of sincere and undying love on luck, an astronomical chance—like a shooting star in a barren sky. 

Dazed with happiness, you sift through the contents of the desk’s side drawer in search of an envelope with a sweet hum. Matthew has stepped away in pursuit of making himself more presentable for the evening—although his outfit alone is more than passable. In your opinion, it is debonair.

After sealing the letter, you take a moment to admire him in his finery and the motions of his body as he searches for a suit jacket in the wardrobe. His shoulder blades shift gracefully beneath the raven dark silk of his vest, the material dimpling around the ornate buckle cinched at the small of his back as he leafs through his options. As he turns, the light of the room catches in the threads of gold embroidery swirling around the front of the garment. 

Matthew presses his lips together as he holds two neckties up to his black collared shirt in the mirror next to the wardrobe, switching between a gold and a rose red puff tie. His brows alternately rise as he considers each choice. The sight twitches the corner of your mouth up and threatens a laugh, especially as he comes no further to reaching a decision each time he pauses between them.

Rising from the plush chair, the fabric of your gown rustles from the movement as you swivel around the desk to join his side. He calmly asks for your opinion. 

You snake the red tie around and underneath his collar, tucking it in and smoothing the enamel pin in its place at the center afterwards. His Adam’s apple bobs as your hands slowly proceed down his chest, and your lips idly press a kiss to his clean-shaven jaw. 

“I thought you didn’t want to be late?” He teases. A hand curves around your waist, and his nose traces down your temple playfully. As he pulls you into the circle of his arms, your hands drift up to his shoulders, and you slant your mouth to hover over his, calculated in your distance.

“I don’t. That’s why—”the word drags along with your bottom lip as you impishly sweep it over the seam of his expectant mouth. When the tips of your noses bump, a fleeting pause simmers as you slink your tortuous path upwards. “We should go,” you finish. You kiss his cupid’s bow deviously, unable to hold back your grin. 

“After you,” he hums while hooked on the edge of your lips, amusing you by forbidding himself from purloining another kiss. Another laugh comes easily to you as he chases the distance between when you pull away. 

In the space of an hour after sunset, the evening has grown cooler. Gliding across the carpet, you retrieve your shawl and drape the silken sapphire blue fabric around your shoulders for warmth. The beaded fringe sways as you swipe the ivory envelope off of the desktop. Matthew offers his elbow to you, all chivalrous and patient as he smiles softly. He leads the both of you outside and the door clicks shut. 

The stars had come out, and as they twinkled, the developing town of Blackwater sat sleepily at the water’s edge. Far beyond the rooftops rose the Grizzlies mountain range, their cloud-haloed peaks standing sentinel against the backdrop of the wide and rolling golden-yellow plains. 

When the ferry first docked earlier this afternoon you enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the bustling streets in the sunshine, more than glad for the change of scenery and the breath of fresh air. Men wearing caps and suspenders toiled under the sun all day, constructing the new town hall and trundling carts of freight down the dusty docks alongside the draft horses whinnying down the cobblestones. They created a din with the ringing of their hammers and mallets and shouting. 

Music drifted outside of the Imperial Theatre and women admired the storefront window displays beneath the brim of their hats. The barber propped his door open to invite business in. Fresh red and glossy apples formed a neat pyramid outside of the general store, and men on their lunch breaks smoked cigars and dangled their worn shoes over the balconies. 

Children played with their dogs inside their picket fences at the edge of town, the parents lounging on the porch in the shade with a lemonade. When the sun went down, the men trickled into the saloons for a round of poker or back home to their families. 

The people in Blackwater were no different from the rest of the budding civilizations of America. They worked hard for an honest life to sustain an honest dream. They enjoyed the simple pleasures that came their way, and they welcomed you to do the same. 

The heat was much drier and more bearable than the thick, humid air of Savannah. Although, you found that you missed the vibrant greens of the seaside city you called home for the past few years. You would spend your Sunday mornings on a blanket in the park with your textbooks, hidden by bushes of blue hydrangeas and glancing up at the wizardly beards of Spanish moss hanging down from the vast trees.

In this dry part of the country, the dirt blown in from the plains dusted the ground and clouded the air from the high traffic, leaving you eager for a bath in the mid-afternoon. That must have been when Matthew purchased the necklace.

Your fingers fondle the droplets, a nervous habit, as if rubbing the coolness from the stone would ease the worries that always swirl below the surface of your happiness. 

Along the waterfront, the street lamps glow yellow into the blue night, bleeding their luminance onto the lake and wavering. With the shimmer of starlight on dark water, the whirling of colors across the ripples resembles a field on fire, burning bright and stretching onwards greedily.

The low murmurs of conversation drifting out from the open dining room interrupt your thoughts mercifully. Your footsteps no longer creak across the wood of the deck, instead clicking on a floor buffed to a high polish.

The sighs of a violin and the musical clink of ice in crystal glasses fills the air, lifting your eyes to the warm atmosphere around you. Men in lavish suits with slicked-back coiffures and ornamental gold-topped canes swirl their amber drinks and mingle. Prim, staid women cling to their sides or sit at the dining tables, their golden hair coiled and twisted in place with jeweled pins while they pick at their nails with keen interest. Tall, potted jungle plants with scalloped leaves decorate the walls between the windows curtained off with red velvet. A fire burns in a hearth on one wall, keeping back the chill of winter’s end and spring’s beginning. 

An usher stands near the door and you briefly speak with him, handing him your letter and an ample amount of cash for fulfilling a special errand. The older gentleman assures you he will see to it promptly after leading you to your table. 

A woman wearing ivory elbow-length gloves cools herself with a lace fan stolidly. Her gown dusts the floor with white lace and elaborate ribbons and gatherings decorate her petite waist. A strand of pearls adorns her swan-like neck, and dangling from her ears glimmer drops of diamonds. She has a chiseled, elegant, oval face, with a small set of brows and lips and a slender nose she lifts at the sight of you. The beating pass of her fan slows distractedly. 

Your gaze passes over her for all of a second, paying no heed when she puffs her chest to draw your attention to her jewelry, her wealth, her social standing. Instead you smile up at Matthew, and he catches it instantly, his hand falling to the small of your back as you lean closer to him. 

A server in a vest and tie pulls out a cushioned chair for you, gesturing for you to sit before draping a napkin in your lap. Matthew settles in at the seat across from you and orders a bottle of Cabernet while the man lays a menu over your table settings. With a humble incline of his head, he leaves you to your conversation. 

You drum your fingers against the pattern of the tablecloth, perusing the menu’s entrees for a few moments before coming to a decision. Matthew has gone curiously silent. 

Candles glow between you, letting time pass unknowingly in the spell they cast as he gazes upon you softly, his eyes alight. Bemused, you pluck a grape from a silver platter laden with ripe fruit, watching him watch you as you taste its pleasant sweetness.

The corner of his mouth lifts. 

An uncontainable laugh blooms from your chest. “What is it?” you demand half-heartedly. 

He shakes his head, clearing the fog of his thoughts with a chuckle as he lifts his chin from his propped fist. 

“I still haven’t wrapped my head around it. Us,” his hand reaches for yours, and the mood shifts from light laughter to sincere tenderness in a blink as you wordlessly accept his touch. “Finally running away together,” he trails thoughtfully. A thumb runs along the ring on your finger and the stone sparkles darkly. His ring. His promise to you. Your commitment to each other. “Like we always dreamed.”

A part of you struggled to believe your life was falling into place at last. All of these years of diligence and sacrifice, thriving off of letters alone while you both worked towards your dreams. The hardships that obstructed you, the grief, the doubts of finding happiness again because of everything that happened. In the darkness of the past you told yourself he was enough. After all of it, he _had_ to be. He was all you had left. 

You cling to his hand. To you, his ring shone with the brightness of the future. 

“We’re hardly running. In fact, I’d say our pace is quite leisurely,” you say cheerfully, lacing his fingers between yours. Hope floods your heart when he squeezes your hand back. “We have all the time in the world.” 

Silverware clatters and a shrill laugh breaks your reverie. Matthew loosens his hold respectfully when the server returns with a bottle of wine, clearing his throat as to announce his presence politely. He pours the drink smoothly into your empty glasses. Meanwhile, you fix your attention to the embossed leaves floriating the baroque wallpaper. You twist your fingers in your lap as the liquid sloshes against the crystal before settling in a dark crimson pool. 

“Have you thought about what you’re going to tell your father?” A harmless question, but one you have both been avoiding. 

You always understood that Matthew had a complicated and strained relationship with his irascible father, Leviticus. As his only son, expectations were put upon him to live in his shadow and carry on his legacy. But Matthew was nothing like him, and that was precisely the problem. After his wife, April, died, whatever kindness he afforded his flesh and blood atrophied. Like she did. Matthew was her reflection in every way: her eyes, her dark hair and elegant face. In the years that passed since her death, he became a source of resentment for his father, reminding him of the limitations of his money in the face of his dearly beloved perishing. 

Matthew’s expression hardens and his shoulders tense. Shrinking back, you swallow the knot in your throat and gnaw your lip, dipping your head in supplication at how thoughtlessly you brought up such a sore subject. The only shared trait you witnessed between him and Leviticus was his temper, and though its occurrence was rare, it still twinged to recognize where it came from. 

“He knows what he needs to. No more, no less. I don’t need his money or his blessing,” he grumbles bitterly, eyes shuttered. His anger is directed elsewhere, and for you, that assuages your guilt. You quietly shun yourself for fearing his reaction in those brief moments. He would never direct his anger towards you. 

The gentle touch of your hand atop his flutters his lashes, and his brow softens. Warm lighting and drifting music surrounds you and instills nothing but peacefulness and calm. 

“We’re leaving all of that behind and starting anew.” you remind him, helpless to caress the coldness from his hand. The tenseness in shoulders loosens and his palm turns up. 

He lifts your knuckles and presses an apologetic kiss upon them. His breath tingles down your wrist as he lingers. 

“How about a toast?” you propose when he releases you. 

“To us?”

“To us.” 

With a crystalline clink, your glasses meet. The smooth and sour taste of the wine slips over your tongue and you savor its richness. As you close your eyes, you open your mind to more than appreciating what you have in this moment. You accept the idea that this is the moment when you leave the past behind for good, that it changes for the better. And with that, the disquiet of your thoughts settle with your glass against the table, silenced in the light of Matthew’s smile and the happiness it speaks of.

A loud crash sounds from behind the dining room doors, and a collective gasp ripples through the room as the doors are kicked in. You whip your head towards the clamor, your heart seizing as your body jerks upwards with a flight instinct.

Silver barrels of raised shotguns and rifles gleam in the lighting and a formidable group of men burst inside, their black duster jackets chasing their tall and imposing forms. Saddlebags are draped over their shoulders and masks conceal their faces, though not their intent. 

Outlaws. 

Your throat dries, your muscles freeze. 

Matthew finds your arm in the uproar of screams and gunshots, plaster raining down as he pulls you against him. 

“Ladies and Gentleman, this is a robbery! Get down on the ground!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this to gauge people's interest, to see if anyone wants to read this fic and if I should keep writing it. That being said, _please_ let me know your thoughts and if you're interested in reading more! Thank you♥  
> I may also be posting this to my tumblr, @wintersongstress :)


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